


Sherlolly 13: Molly, Alone

by George_Sand



Series: George_Sand Sherlolly Series 1 [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Condoms, Explicit but nice, F/M, Hand Jobs, Intense graphic sex but always sweet and consensual, Molly orgasm, Molly's POV, Oral Sex, Pain, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sex, Sherlock orgasm, pleasure - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 05:19:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9533522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/George_Sand/pseuds/George_Sand
Summary: Molly reflects on making love to Sherlock.This is part 13 of George_Sand Sherlolly Series 1.  Please read in order, they build on each other.Molly had reached to grab the box and looked at Sherlock, eyebrows raised, as she opened it.  She had watched Sherlock blow through pursed lips, then nod, his eyes wide and sparkling....He had exclaimed, “Molly!” and she had lain down and cuddled him until he recovered.  Then, he had rolled toward her and said, smiling, “I love you, Molly Hooper.”“And I love you.”They had dropped off to sleep, skin to skin, in each others' warmth.





	

          Molly sits on her couch, a cup of cold tea in her hand, staring into nothing.  She is smiling, thinking back on the conversation she had initiated, right there on the couch, yesterday.  She had been worried about the physical mechanisms of sex with Sherlock, afraid he’d be too much for her, and she hadn’t wanted to get hurt.  Limited experience had told Molly that Sherlock would probably be very enthusiastic and want to come in deep and hard, but she had guessed that that might not be the best way for them. 

          So they had started out slow.  After she had told Sherlock her concerns, he had slid off of the couch to kneel between her knees.  He had held her in Their way as they kissed for a moment, lightly, then deeper.  Sherlock’s hands had wound into her hair, twisting and pulling softly, and Molly remembered the feeling of his large hands on her head and neck.  She had put her hands on his chest and after a moment had stroked his nipples a few times.  With her eyes still closed, she had felt Sherlock’s hands fall out of her hair and onto her breasts, outside her jumper, and tease just the right places.  Her jumper and shirt came off.  Then her bra.

          Molly had unbuttoned Sherlock’s shirt and accidentally brushed his groin as she undid the last button.  She had pulled his shirt down off of his arms and then, purposefully, brushed the backs of her hands up along Sherlock’s trousers, his erection between them.  She had undone his belt and watched him stand as his trousers fell to the floor.  Molly had stood and taken off her jeans.  Then, both wearing only pants, she had taken his hand and led him to her room, taking the box of condoms from the kitchen table on the way.  They had taken off their pants as they sat down on her bed, glancing at each others' bodies and giving each other affectionate looks.  Then Sherlock had laid down on his back, pulling Molly with him, and she straddled him.  Sitting along the length of his erection, she had rolled her hips as she had before, closing her eyes as she worked his head under her most sensitive areas.  When she had looked down at Sherlock, he had been looking back with adoration, and she had decided that the time had come. 

          Molly had reached to grab the box and looked at Sherlock, eyebrows raised, as she opened it.  She had watched Sherlock blow through pursed lips, then nod, his eyes wide and sparkling.  Finding a condom, she had opened it and had luxuriously unrolled it onto Sherlock.  It had fit so perfectly, and he had pulsed so wonderfully under her hands that she had wanted to lie back and pull him into her, hard.  But she hadn’t wanted to be hurt, so she had helped him sit up, cross-legged.  She had enjoyed the confusion on his face before she had knelt, straddling his lap.  Rising slightly and taking him gently in her hand, she had guided his body to hers.  As she had started to sink down onto him, her body slowly relaxed and gave way and she couldn’t prevent a soft sob from escaping her mouth.  Through what she could only assume had been a herculean effort, Sherlock had managed to delay his own gratification, had withdrawn and exclaimed repentantly, “Molly, Love, I’m sorry, did I hurt you!?”

          She had replied, almost sobbing again, “No! No Sherlock, it’s wonderful, I just can’t…can’t believe…we’re together”, and lowered herself onto him again.  Sherlock had cradled her face and as they started to move together, had wiped away tears that Molly hadn’t known had fallen.  He had held her face and she had clung to his shoulders as they had rocked ecstatically, gently, together.  But soon, too soon, Sherlock had let go of her face and seized her hips, pressing them down against his legs.  He had exclaimed, “Molly!” as he pulsed and gave her everything he had.  Molly had smiled and let go of his shoulders, and watched him fall back on the bed.  He had uttered her name again, and she had lain down and cuddled him until he recovered.  Then, he had rolled toward her and said, smiling, “I love you, Molly Hooper.”

           “And I love you.”

           They had dropped off to sleep, skin to skin, in each others’ warmth. 

 --

           Snapping back to the present, Molly rouses as her relaxing hand almost spills her tea.  She puts it down and throws herself against the back of the couch.  She closes her eyes and relives last night. 

 --

           In her memory, she wakes, skin to skin with Sherlock, and for no reason at all begins kissing Sherlock’s fingertips, one by one.  After a moment, the fingers flex and she looks up to see Sherlock, awake. 

          Molly says “Hello.” Then, seeing that he is fully awake, “I propose a game.”

          Sherlock smirks, ready and willing. “What’s the game?”

          Butterflies come into Molly’s stomach, but she makes her voice low and threatening. “Let’s see who begs for mercy first!”

          Sherlock’s eyes catch fire, then subside with caution as he says, “Molly, we’ve never been rough before.  I don’t want to hurt each other.”

          Butterflies calming a bit, Molly says, “Love, do you trust me?”

          “Yes.” Sherlock replies.

          “Then trust me to tell you if something isn’t working and I need you to stop.  And you do the same, okay?”

          “Okay”

          “Then,” says Molly wickedly, “let’s go!” 

           The butterflies lunge with her to Sherlock’s ear.  She licks and nips as she knows he likes, and the butterflies settle as she hears his familiar low whimpers.  She tastes victory before he snakes his fingers into her hair, and pulls it firmly, dragging her mouth away from his ear.  Pulling her down onto the bed, he dives to her breast and works with enthusiasm, gently using his teeth for the first time, wringing a strangled “Love!” from her lips.  She feels his teeth gently squeeze her hard nipple and it is so good, so good.  Sherlock grips her hands and holds them against the bed above her head.  Her eyes squeeze shut and she feels vulnerable, but relaxes when Sherlock delicately plays the tendons on her neck with his tongue.  He whispers, “Molly, Love,” between licks and kisses and she feels his hot breath on her skin.  Not to be outdone, she squirms down, her wrists slipping out of his hands, until her mouth is at his trachea.  She kisses and licks and sucks until she feels the almost inaudible moan.  Their hips have aligned and Molly can feel him searching for entrance, then moving away as he reaches for the box on the nightstand.  Molly helps him lay on his back and they work together to put on the condom, then Molly straddles and sinks down onto Sherlock.  She rises and falls, and Sherlock's hands reach to her hips to help, but she moves them away, needing to be in control as she learns how Sherlock’s body fits into hers.  As she experiments with depth, finding no resistance or pain in her body, Sherlock groans and breathes with her rhythm.  “Molly…” he says, his voice rising like a warning, then “Molly!” and gasps and half-sits.  Knowing he wants to thrust as deeply as he can, she quickly but regretfully rises so that, even though he’s inside her, their bodies aren’t touching.  After feeling his last surge, she keeps him inside, and slowly leans forward to whisper in his ear, “I win.”  She lays her head on his chest and after he recovers, they talk and laugh quietly until they drop off to sleep.

 

          The next time, Molly wakes to find Sherlock kissing her fingers.  She smiles as she puts a finger under his chin, drawing his lips to her eyelid.  Cradling her face in his hand, he kisses it once, gently.  They look at each other tenderly as his hand slowly slides down her neck, over her breast, to her hip, and around to the small of her back.  She is surprised to feel herself quite warm, and glances at Sherlock’s eyes, to the box, and back to his eyes. 

“Really?” he says, and when she smiles, he grabs a condom. 

She watches him open it and put it on, then embraces him as he hovers over her.  “I’ll be careful,” he says, reading her thoughts.  She takes him in her hand and guides him to her.  He slowly enters and tentatively moves, back and forth, only penetrating half way, watching Molly’s face carefully.  Paying attention to her own sensations, Molly breathes, “good…” and uses her hands to pull Sherlock’s hips, guiding him to come deeper.  He continues to watch her, but she loses eye contact as her eyes roll back and she closes them.  She hums as she exhales and Sherlock notices that her hands are balled up in fists.  “Molly?” he asks tentatively and she moans back, “good…good…good…”, but Sherlock withdraws.

          He says “Love, you look like you’re in pain.  Don’t let me hurt you.  Don’t do anything you don’t like.”  He lays down next to her, they are facing each other.

          Molly sighs with a sense of loss.  “We were walking the line between pleasure and pain, and I liked it.” Then looking right in his eyes, “Trust me to tell you if it becomes too much.”

          Sherlock furrows his brow.  “I don’t understand.  How can pleasure mix with pain?  And how can it be enjoyable?”

          Molly replies, “I don’t know.  But you don’t have to understand, because I’ll always let you know if we need to stop.  I promise.” 

          She kisses his mouth, then draws her knees up toward her chest.  Raising an eyebrow, she coyly puts his erection between her knees and uses them to massage him, her hands resting on his chest.  Sherlock’s puzzled look soon gives way to surprise, then delight, as he gives himself to this unexpected sensation.  Molly chuckles as she watches the changes in his expression.  He comes and Molly gives him an indulgent smile.

          When they wake again, it’s morning.  Molly is on her side with Sherlock curled around her.  She can tell by his breathing that he’s awake and he reaches around her to intertwine her fingers.  His voice is solicitous as he says: “How are you doing, Love?” 

          She quickly assesses and replies, “I’m good, Love.  My body is good and my heart is happy.”

          Sherlock says, “You have given me so much.  I’m spent, but I don’t think you are.  True?” 

          Molly replies, honestly, “True.” 

          Then, “May I please work on you?” 

          And Molly smiles.  “Yes. Please.”

          Sherlock sweeps her hair aside and, still laying behind her, kisses each vertebrae in her neck.  “Relax,” he whispers as she shivers.  He raises his head and nuzzles her neck, searching for the tendons which are barely accessible in this position.  Molly moves a leg back to twine around one of Sherlock’s and his hand moves down to her thigh.  He sits up next to her and cups his hand over her knee, curiously.  He moves down and carefully fits his mouth to one of the tendons behind it.  The contact tickles and Molly involuntarily clutches his hair and says, “No,” through her laughter.  Molly is still on her side, and Sherlock lays his head on her hip, his hand pressed against her soft stomach.  She strokes his hair for a moment before he kisses and licks his way up her spine.  When he arrives at her neck his hand clutches her throat, then lets go spasmodically, and Molly knows he thinks he’s crossed a line.  She feels safe with Sherlock and likes his hand at her throat, so she finds it and brings it back.  His arm is between her breasts as his fingers reach around her neck.  He is erect and Molly reaches back for him but he won’t let her. He murmurs, “No, Love, this is just you.”

          Molly feels Sherlock trace his fingertips lightly over the shallow curves from her shoulder to her hip, and audibly hums when his large palm grips her hip possessively.  He slowly slips his fingers toward her groin, but she catches his hand and breathes, “Not yet”.

          Molly rolls onto her back encouragingly, and Sherlock continues to trace his fingertips all over her body, finally visiting a hard nipple.  He puts both palms on her breasts and pinches her nipples as he knows she likes, then hovers his palms over her breasts and makes small circles, chafing just the tips of her nipples. Sitting up, he positions his hands under her neck, supporting her head, and pauses to look into her eyes.  She shivers as he heavily drags his hands down her neck, over her breasts, over her stomach, to either side of her groin.  Sherlock lays his head on Molly’s soft stomach and plays blindly with her breasts, and Molly plays with his hair as she gets warmer and warmer.  Suddenly ravenous, Molly pushes his head down toward her groin, murmuring, “I’m ready now.”

            On her back, she draws her legs up and opens her knees, exposing the last part of herself.  Methodically laying on his stomach, propped on his elbows, Sherlock drops a gentle kiss on her mound.  Then, starting his fingers at the crease in her leg so she can anticipate his approach, he strokes down through her center, front to back, and she can feel how slick she is.  He nuzzles his face to her and his tongue glides up her center, and Molly hears him grunt happily when she emits a high-pitched exhale.  He works eagerly with his tongue and fingers, and Molly gets warmer and closes her eyes.  She takes his hand and moves it until his fingers are where she wants them, but he pauses. 

          She hears his voice, hesitant, “…the shower…” but she assures him,

          “I’m ready”.

          Very slowly, he begins working the area where she has put his fingers, and she hears her own voice, “Sheh, mmm, Mmm!”  He draws her folds of skin wide with his fingers, but nothing enters Molly; he has opened her, exposing her to the cold air, and Molly feels delicious anticipation.  Her body longs for him, any part of him.  Then Sherlock's tongue is covering her, warming her, entering her.  Licking deep, his tongue makes tiny circles at her sensitive spot.  Coming out for air, he opens her again and enters with two fingers.  She gives up, she moans and rocks as he explores inside her body.  With each wave she squeezes him, hugging his hand inside her.  She can’t see and doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing, but it’s wonderful.  Then he does something different and everything intensifies. 

          Molly’s world gradually goes dark, collapsing into one pinpoint ball of pleasure, maybe in her groin, maybe in her mind.  She sees nothing, she hears nothing, she is aware of nothing outside of it.  The pleasure grows and becomes white hot, dancing with pain and it hurts so good, so good.  Something changes and she feels a desperate panic as the ecstasy diminishes a little. 

She moans, almost yells, “No!  Come back!” and immediately the gratification returns – and intensifies. 

She vaguely feels breath on her ear, vaguely hears her name, but nothing matters, nothing matters but the fire somewhere inside her. 

She pants, she sweats, she moans, “Please!” and then she explodes. 

          The fire ball of ecstatic pain, that pinpoint of pleasure has suddenly flooded her body, and she laughs uncontrollably with delight as the fire burns through her.  Flames come in waves, licking her skin, inside and out.  Flames of physical ecstasy, of hope and loss and life and death and love fill her body, and it becomes too much.  All the emotion, all the fire floods out of her and she is sobbing.  Tears squeezing out of her clenched eyelids, gasping and sobbing, her hands flail for Sherlock.  Her Sherlock, her Love.  Now.  She needs him now and she sobs as she feels his arms catch her and hold her close.  She shudders and her body begins to quiet, her mind and her emotions slowly floating down like feathers.  After a time, she gathers enough presence of mind to look at Sherlock. 

She mumbles “Oh my goodness, Love,” and nuzzles deep into his chest. 

Floating, drifting back to herself, she revels in the afterglow. 

She feels Sherlock’s arms holding her tightly, and she looks back into his eyes and says “Thank you, Love.” 

He wears such an endearing expression that she can’t help but laugh. 

Confused, shocked, even afraid, he asks “Molly, what happened, did I hurt you?”

“What happened?! Sherlock, you just gave me one of the best moments of my life!” 

 

\--

           Wrapped in her reverie, Molly almost screams when her phone beeps.  Dragging herself back to the present, she looks at the screen.

          _Coffee (literal)?  - SH_

          She picks it up, smiling, to reply.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew! Is this too much PWP? I don't want to take away any of my readers' innocence!  
> Well, too late, I guess...
> 
> This work has not been beta-ed, please send constructive criticism!


End file.
